


Of magic, and other broken things

by simithedemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Possessed Sam, Threesome, sort of wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-16
Updated: 2009-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simithedemon/pseuds/simithedemon
Summary: The seals have all fallen, Lucifer has risen and possessed his vessel. The angels have a plan, but is the sacrifice it requires too much to ask...?(archiving from LJ)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gradually bringing my fic over from my LJ account as a means of archiving them as the originals were lost in a hard drive crash many years ago. Original notes follow. Apologies if the tagging isn't up to scratch, it's been years since I've posted fic anywhere.
> 
> (original) Notes: This is not how this fic was supposed to turn out. The initial idea came about as a way of annoying strangeandcharm (who doesn't "do" wincest) whilst she was writing the Kissing It Bitter trilogy It should have been a very silly, short crack piece (Cas and Dean save Sam by spitroast, how can that be serious?!) and instead turned into this... (I'm going to special Hell) Beta'd back in 2009 but not touched since.

Sam’s fingers scratched across the wood. They made a disconcerting sound, and he made a disconcerting picture, sitting slightly slumped in the chair, wrists and ankles bound tightly to it, head crooked watching his own nails scratch, scratch over the grain.

He was watched from the corner by an equally off-centre figure. Castiel stood perfectly still, eyes fixed on Sam, lips pursed and chapped, arms hanging limp by his sides, the only sign of life being the slight movement of his coat as he breathed. They could have been there for minutes, hours or days; it was a comfortably uncomfortable tableau.

A breeze moves across Castiel’s face, causing a few silky hairs to drift across his brow. He tenses as the same breeze caresses Sam, whose fingers falter in their movement and eyes flick up to stare through the fringe of hair at the angel in the corner. Sam smiles, teeth showing in a feral parody of his usual open expression. For a second his eyes shift; a mercurial silver with an oil slick of colours sliding across, beautiful and alien and not Sam.

“Uriel,” he growls, licks his lips and turns his attention back to his incessantly moving fingers.

Uriel grimaces and strides past, carefully skirting the intricate patterns painted in a circle around Sam’s chair, before dumping a large valise on the bed by Castiel.

“It’s all here.” He turns, and looks directly at Sam. “Abomination and atrocity.” His face twists in loathing as he spits the words out.

Sam looks up again, nods in acknowledgement and smirks. “Brother.”

Castiel moves quickly to grasp Uriel’s arm before he can take more than half a step forward. Sam laughs, a low sound that makes even the angel’s hair prickle and stand on end. “My brother,” he repeats, before suddenly straining up against his restraints, muscles popping and rippling on his arms and across his back. The chair squeals in protest as he braces again, lifting the back legs up and slamming them down. The sound echoes, and Castiel’s hand slides down to hang at his side.

“You can’t break it.” He’s calm and collected as he leaves Uriel’s side and walks back over to the bed. “You have no more strength than Sam does; in fact you have less, as the binding also restricts his... other abilities.” He opens the bag and starts pulling objects out; a knife, a chalice, bundles of herbs, and more, arranging them carefully on the bed.

Sam glowers but stops pulling at the chair. He starts scratching again, seemingly losing interest in the two angels as they continue to sort the contents. He scratches and whispers softly to himself.

Castiel pulls the last object out, a book with reddish-black bindings that look greasy and old. He places it carefully on the only other piece of furniture in the room, a large but sturdy old table, and steps back, unconsciously rubbing his fingers clean on the fabric of his coat. Checking the watch on his wrist, he turns and speaks to Uriel.

“We must start to prepare, can you...” He breaks off sharply and turns to face Sam, head tilted as he watches intently; and then he walks the edge of the circle before squatting down to face him. He frowns as Sam continues to mutter to himself.

“What’s wrong?” Uriel comes up behind him, gently touching Castiel’s head to get his attention, and then goes silent as Castiel holds up one hand.

“He’s coming.” Sam looks up at them, and repeats again the words he’s been chanting like a mantra for the last ten minutes. “He’s coming.” His eyes flick silver again, shadows moving eerily across his face as he stares towards the closed door in the wall behind them. Then he shudders, a full body quake that throws his head back and makes the chair scrape across the painted floor, and then is still apart from the continuing movement of his fingers against the wood.

Castiel looks at him for a moment then stands, turning to face the door.

“How did he find us so soon? We should be undetectable.” Moving towards the bed Uriel double-checks, running his fingers across the arcane objects, making sure everything is ready. “I knew that demon bitch wasn’t to be trusted.”

Castiel glances towards him before fixing his gaze back to the door. “Ruby knew her role. If this is her doing, then it was for a good reason. She played her part too well and for too long to risk her chance of redemption over trivialities of timing. She would not betray us now.”

“Do we really need him for this?”

“Do you want to take his place?” Castiel’s lips quirk upwards and for a second he looks almost amused.

Uriel snorts contemptuously, rolling his eyes in distaste.

“I thought not.” Castiel pauses, and briefly shuts his eyes in concentration. “He’s here. Be ready, but please, remember what is at stake here.”

For a split second there is a brief sound, a gentle slide of boot against the bare boards outside the room, then a sudden crash and splintering as the door flies open, hits and bounces off the wall beside it. Castiel doesn’t flinch as he greets the man who now stands in the doorway aiming an old-fashioned pistol directly at his head.

“Dean.”

“Cas.” Dean’s eyes momentarily focus beyond Castiel and an almost undetectable tremor shakes the aim of the weapon in his hand. He looks back and tightens his grip “Please tell me what the FUCK is going on here, why you’ve got Sam tied to a fucking chair, and why I’ve just had my ass saved by Ruby, who according to you was BFF with Lilith and all her glowy-eyed minions of doom?”

Sam stirs in the chair. “Dean?” He looks over to his brother and peers at him, bleary-eyed, before his head lolls forward. With a great effort he lifts his head again. “Dean... Hurts... Cas...”

“Sammy? You OK?” Dean’s attention turns back to the angel standing open-handed in front of him. “Seriously, Cas. What. The. Fuck?”

“This is not your brother.” Castiel moves forward, stops just short of the muzzle of the Colt, which Dean continues to point directly at him. “Dean. You must trust us with this.”

“Who? You and short-and-grumpy over there? You maybe, but he’s not exactly Sam’s number one fan, is he?” Keeping the angel in front of him, Dean circles around until he has Sam at his back. “Sam, Sammy. Dude, talk to me.”  
Sam stirs and lifts his head. “Dean? Please...” He looks weak and defenceless as he sits in the chair; Dean lets his gun hand drop as he begins to move towards his brother, but stops short, restrained by Castiel’s hand gripping his wrist tightly.

“Dean. Wait. I will show you, but you must stop.” For a second Castiel looks frustrated. “If you truly believed that we would harm Sam, then you would have shot me when you entered the room.”

Dean flushes, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks uncomfortably at Castiel. Whatever deflecting reply he was about to give to Castiel’s allegation is lost when Sam lets out a moan of pain, drawing the attention of all in the room.

“Look at him, Dean.” Castiel lets go, and pushes him gently towards his bound brother. Dean slowly drops to his knees in front of the chair and brushes one hand cautiously down the side of Sam’s face.

“Sam?” Placing his fingers under Sam’s chin Dean pushes up, tilting Sam’s head so he can clearly see his face. “Christo.”

Sam laughs wearily and stares at Dean through his lashes. “S’me Dean... not a demon.” He looks up a Castiel, standing carefully beyond the edge of the binding circle. “Tried to tell them, but...” He shrugs as much as he can. Dean looks back over his shoulder at Castiel and misses the telltale metallic flicker. Castiel, however, doesn’t, and narrows his mouth at the faintly mocking smile Sam throws at him over the top of Dean’s turned head.

“His hands, Dean. Look at his hands.”

Dean looks down to where Sam’s hands are tightly roped to the arm of the chair, and blanches as he sees where Sam’s fingers have been working at the wood. The scratching has stopped as the incessant movement has worn down Sam’s nails, constant friction eating into the skin and flesh of his fingertips, leaving a pattern of blood and skin rubbed into the grain of the wood. Sam’s fingers still continued to move, wearing down the flesh and smearing more fresh blood. He almost looks startled at the damage, and then gives Dean a bashful smile, accompanied with the return of his oil slick eyes.

“Oops.”

Dean jerks back in surprise, losing his balance and falling hard on his ass before scrambling up and away from Sam.

“Holy words have no effect, Dean. He is far, far older than the one you use. He has no fear of it.” Castiel reaches out, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort. “I am sorry that it has come to this.”

Dean pulls away abruptly and stares at Castiel. “Come to what? And who the hell is he? What the fuck is going on, Cas?”

“Uriel?” Castiel looks at his fellow angel questioningly.

“I’ll keep it short and sweet for you, Dean Winchester; wouldn’t want to tax that feeble human mind.” Uriel scowls as Castiel glares over at him, and continues in a slightly less antagonistic manner. “Sam was picked as a baby to be a potential vessel. Skip forward a few years and he became the only vessel and Ruby was tasked to prepare him. Unluckily for Lilith, Ruby is more interested in redemption than being her right-hand slut, and under our direction has been preparing Sam as a trap instead. So the sixty-sixth seal failed, the trap was sprung, and here we are.” He smiles and waits, as if daring Dean to retaliate.

“Motherfuck. You used my brother as frickin’ bait for Lucifer?. Did he know? Or are we that expendable that it didn’t matter? And Cas,” Dean turns to face the silent angel, “how come you didn’t tell me? I thought... Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, ’cos I was wrong, wasn’t I? Me ’n’ Sam? We don’t mean squat to any of you.”

He starts to raise the Colt again, pauses and looks at it almost blankly before sighing heavily and throwing over onto the bed. “Cas, I’m just so tired of all this. For once can’t you just tell us what the fuck’s going on before you screw with us?” He turns away and walks over to his brother, watching him, shoulders slumped with the weight of it all.

“It would not have served any purpose to tell you. We made a decision that you were safer ignorant.”

“Dammit Cas, that’s not your decision to make. After everything we’ve been through together, don’t you trust us yet?”

“I trust you Dean.”

“But you don’t trust Sam?”

“It’s a heavy truth to bear. We would be wary of burdening anyone with this knowledge.”

“So you didn’t trust him.”

“Of course we didn’t trust him. Trust a human with one of the most carefully laid plans of the last millennia? Trust a walking meat bag to willingly comply without whining and moaning and attempting to save themselves at the expense of the other six billion meat bags defiling the planet? No, we don’t trust him, I don’t trust you, but Castiel has this weak spot where you’re concerned.” Uriel stares hard at Dean, frustration and anger rolling off him in waves, and then addresses himself to Castiel. “That’s it, I’m done. Are you sure he can do this?”

“Will do what? Will someone TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON?”

Castiel ignores Dean to walk over to where Uriel stands waiting. He places his hand on Uriel’s shoulder, tightens his grip in a brief gesture of solidarity before answering him. “I wish I could persuade you that I’m right in this, but I am... grateful that you have bowed to my authority over it. We will be fine; I can handle the ritual from this point and your own tasks have their own significance. Rest assured that I will call for you if I need you.” He moves his hand to the curve of Uriel’s jaw and smiles faintly. “Brother.”

“Brother,” Uriel returns reluctantly. He nods faintly in acknowledgement before blinking out of existence, a flurry of shifting shadows and the faint sound of wings.

Castiel turns swiftly to face Dean and watches him scrub his fingers roughly through his hair in irritation until he stops, and stares back. For a moment they look at each other, silence stretching out between them until a creak from Sam’s chair draws them back.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m sorry. I’ll explain it all.” Castiel sighs. “We never meant to get to this point. This is it; the end game. Our last ditch, final stand against those who would raise Lucifer and bring about the final Armageddon. I believe you would call it a ‘Hail Mary’?” He moves to sit on the edge of the bed; Dean leans against the edge of the table and crosses his arms, and looks at him intently.

“OK. And?”

“And now we have him trapped in Sam. He can’t get out. He can’t access his own powers. The Devil’s Trap that surrounds his chair is designed to stifle his, or rather Sam’s, abilities. He’s weak and he’s vulnerable.”

“Well, as I didn’t get here to find my brother’s corpse cooling in that chair, I take it that you have something else in mind than just killing him. What’s the plan, what is it that Uriel thinks I can’t do? ’Cos there isn’t anything I won’t do to save my brother, Cas, believe me.”

“Killing Sam will just allow Lucifer to run free. We have to confine him back in Hell. There’s a ritual, a spell of sorts. It’s old... not quite as old as the Fall, but close to it. It’s complicated and powerful, and will require a great deal from both of us, more than you understand, more than I would ever wish to ask of you.”

“Will it save Sam?“

Castiel looks up sharply. “Would it matter, Dean? Is Uriel right?”

Dean pushes away from the table and walks over to his brother. He stops, and reaches out to smooth away the hair falling in front of Sam’s eyes. Sam looks up at him, not even bothering now to hide away, eyes gleaming and a twisted leer distorting the familiar lines of his face.

“Cas... I...” His hand drops away. “No. No, it wouldn’t. It’s just... Cas, he’s all I’ve got. I can’t lose him.”

Castiel walks to the edge of the circle nearest Dean. “You won’t. As long you really are willing to do anything for your brother, then we can do this, but let me warn you. Once we start, that’s it. No backing out. No hesitation. We get nothing for nothing; we will need to pay for this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Old means blood, sweat, tears, the whole enchilada. This is my life Cas, I know this stuff. Whatever it takes, I can handle it.”

Castiel looks at him, assessing him before nodding slowly. “Yes, I believe you can.” Moving over to the bed, he looks carefully over the items Uriel had left laid out over the cover. He reaches out, picks up a small syringe half-filled with a colourless fluid and then walks back over to the edge of the Trap.

“We need Sam to sleep. I need to touch him to do it, but I can’t enter the Trap without being subject to it myself. Once I step in I will have to remain there until you to break the circle.” He offers the syringe to Dean. “You need to administer this. Once it’s taken effect I can talk you through the initial preparations.”

“So once we start this, you’ll have no angel mojo?” Dean administers the dose, flinching slightly as Sam hisses at the pinch of the needle breaking his skin.

“I will be effectively human for the extent of the ritual, yes. The only binding strong enough to work on him has the unfortunate side-effect of working on us, too.”  
Moving to the table, Castiel picks up the black book again. He turns the pages, searching quickly for the relevant passages before turning back to Dean. “Untie him carefully and lay him out in the circle.”

Dean watches Sam warily, appearing unconscious not being a guarantee that the demon hidden inside isn’t faking. He pushes up Sam’s soiled t-shirt then twists his nipple sharply. When there is no response he pulls out his knife, cuts the ropes that fasten Sam to the chair, then catches him as he slumps forward bonelessly.

“Good god, Sasquatch, you weigh a freakin’ ton.” He lowers Sam gently to the ground, cradling his head in one hand to prevent it bouncing off the bare boards and lays him out straight in the middle of the Trap. Sitting back on his heels, he turns his gaze back to Castiel, who is still studying the book in front of him.

“The sedation will not last long, I need him awake and compliant for what is to come, but I need him under our, or should I say your, control.” He pushes the open book and a small vial of oil into the circle. “You need to draw these symbols over certain key points using the oil in the vial, reciting the passage written beneath them; soles of his feet, palms of his hands, over his heart and on his head, here.” Castiel points to a spot on his own forehead. “In case you are wondering, Dean, this would not have worked anywhere but in this circle. You will only be able to control Sam because Lucifer is too weak to stop it.”

Dean pulls the book towards him and studies the text within. The symbols are simple enough, although also strangely complex. Tracing them with his finger makes Dean feel odd and ill at ease, yet he grits his teeth and starts stripping off the clothing covering the areas he needs to mark.

“Take it all off.” Castiel looks at Dean over his shoulder, hands busy with candles and incense on the bed. “He’ll need to be naked anyway.”

Dean moves fast, taking off Sam’s clothes and leaving them folded haphazardly outside the perimeter of the Trap. He pauses, and then moves to Sam’s feet, examining the book carefully before opening the bottle and daubing the arcane symbols on the soles. He glances up at Castiel who is moving purposefully around the room, lighting candles and gesturing elegantly, before laying his hand over the damp skin and reciting the short sentence written with the symbols.

“Holy fuck!” Dean holds his hand up and looks at it with a fascinated horror. “That was weird... Kinda tingly.”

“That’s good, Dean. It means you’re doing it right. Carry on... Please.”

“This magic shit freaks me out, Cas. I really hope you know what you’re doing here.”

Castiel ignores him and carries on with his own preparations. The two work in a comfortable silence for a while, Dean working his way further up Sam’s prone body and Castiel working his way around the room, until a flare of white and sudden strange feeling of absence indicates the end of Castiel’s workings. Dean stops, hands resting on Sam’s head as he gazes around the room, the edges of which are now decorated with eerily coruscating walls of light.

He watches Castiel approach the circle with a growing look of respect, and quirks one eyebrow in query.

“It’s a shield of sorts. Nothing will be able to enter the room, and more importantly, no one will be able to see or hear anything that occurs.” Castiel sits down on the boards; he looks tired and somewhat drawn. “Finish, Dean. Then we can talk. You need to know what it is that you have agreed to do.”

Dean looks down at Sam’s face, now illuminated solely by the light from the barrier surrounding them; it adds a sense of weight, an augury of something that makes his stomach churn and a nervous sweat prickle across his brow. He swallows, and recites the text for the last time. The final word brings a shock this time, rather than the odd tingle that Dean has almost become used to, and it spreads beyond his hand, making his whole body ache unpleasantly.

Castiel nods to himself absently, and then visibly pulls himself together before addressing Dean again.

“I spoke of payment, and you agreed. We need to discuss the currency of this payment, the sacrifices that must be made to ensure that this binding succeeds. They must be made willingly, Dean. No matter how... hard, the things I ask of you. Do you understand?”  
“I’m willing to die for my brother, Cas, you know that. If that’s what it takes to end the Apocalypse and save Sam, bring it on. My life to send Lucifer back to the Pit is nothing.”

A bitter smile twists Castiel’s usually benign face. “It is nothing, Dean. I’m sorry, but giving your life? That’s not a sacrifice, that’s a habit. It won’t work. The magic demands more than that, it demands something of great value, something that will cost you to give.”

“My blood, my life, aren’t enough? What the hell is, then?”

“Your brother, or rather, your love for your brother. It’s powerful and pure, and as such can be used.”

Dean looks puzzled. “I’m sorry Cas, I’m not getting it. What do you need me to do?”

“It’s old magic, Dean. It works old principles and old rules; life and death, sex and blood.”

For a moment Dean stares at Castiel, still not grasping the meaning behind the angel’s words; then he sits back, face pale and mouth open as he begins to comprehend.

“You better not be saying what I think you’re saying. That’s just wrong, Cas. That can’t be right.”

Castiel just looks at Dean, his eyes sympathetic but resolute.

“Oh jeez, Cas. This won’t work, you said he had to be awake, he... Lucifer... whatever, won’t go for this. I can’t force my brother! Please Cas, don’t make me hurt him.”

“The ritual you performed gives you control whilst we’re within the circle. He will do whatever you ask, and he’ll do it willingly.”

Dean stands up, scrubbing his hands across his face in frustration, shock rapidly giving way to anger.

“So, this is God’s Plan? Me, fucking my mystically roofied brother to save the world? That’s more than fucked-up, that’s just plain sick, dude. I can see why it never made the final edit, although I think you’ll find you’d get a whole new range of readers with that, and I think Mel would love to have filmed it. And you...” He gestures angrily at Castiel. “You. What’s your sacrifice? Five minutes messing around with candles and a ringside seat at the freakshow?”

“No, Dean, this is not God’s Plan. My Father’s plan would have had Sam, and a ten mile radius around him, obliterated from the Earth as soon as we failed and Lucifer took control. That’s a plan that can still happen. Should we fail in this, Uriel is ready to call God’s Wrath upon this spot, smiting the Earth and bringing about such devastation that it will affect this entire planet for decades to come. That, Dean, is the Apocalypse we seek to avert. This is in direct opposition to God’s Plan.” As he speaks, Castiel moves into the circle, dropping a wrapped bundle beside Sam’s still sleeping form, and then turns to stand face-to-face with Dean.

“Aren’t you risking a lot with this? Your Father doesn’t seem the forgiving sort. Isn’t Anna still wandering about with a price on her head?”

“Disobedience, fornication and using forbidden Black Arts? I think that even Gabriel would lose favour after those. I’ve accepted the consequences of my actions, Dean.” He shrugs, and starts to turn back towards Sam, stopping short as Dean reaches out and grabs his arm.

“That’s your sacrifice? You’re going to Fall, willingly? Cas... I, shit, I’d say I’m sorry, but it doesn’t seem enough. Aw hell. What are we doing?”

“What needs to be done, Dean. Are you ready?” Dean nods reluctantly, and lets go of Castiel’s arm as he drops down to kneel beside Sam. The bundle that he dropped had come partially open in the fall, and he opens it further, spreading out and arranging the contents carefully. Dean recognises them as the items Uriel had been sorting on the bed. Castiel picks out a sharp, wicked looking blade and, holding it up, examines the edge.

“Please wake your brother.”

“He’s pretty doped up.” Dean shakes Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, Sammy. Rise and shine, dude.”

Sam’s eyes flicker open and quickly focus on Dean. He looks around carefully, sitting up slowly and tensing as he sees Castiel beside him. For a brief moment Dean sees the faint metallic shimmer in his eyes, confirming again that the man he was holding onto wasn’t entirely Sam.

“Dean. You going to... save me?” Sam smiles at him, mouth twisting slightly. “I feel itchy. You’ve been creative, I see.” He holds his hands up, cocking his head slightly as he examines the palms intently. “Naughty, naughty, Castiel. You’ve been teaching my brother bad tricks. Our Father isn’t going to like that.” He spreads his arms out and looks at Dean through his lashes. “Well, you’ve got me, now what?”

“Now? Now, Me ‘n’ Cas are going to put you back where you belong. We will save Sam and you are going to help. No fighting, no trying to escape, and you follow Castiel’s orders as if they came from me.” He turns to the angel, who’s looking at him with surprise. “That OK, Cas?”

“You trust me with control of Sam? After everything we’ve done to you and your brother, you trust us?”

“Angels? Not really. You, though, yes. Might not like what you’ve said on occasions, but you’ve come through for us enough times that I know you’ll do what you can for Sam, and seriously Cas. What we’re about to do? I have to trust you, can’t do it otherwise.”

Sam starts to applaud slowly. “That’s just so sweet. The pair of you, it’s just huggable. A touching little scene, just before you violate your brother, if I’m not mistaken. Don’t look so surprised, Castiel. You think I don’t keep track of what can be used against me? I’m quite impressed, actually. I didn’t think He’d let one of his perfect little sons sully their wings this much.” He leans forward and whispers softly, “When this fails, and it will, believe me, I promise you an eternity to regret this, brother. Every quivering piece of flesh I carve off your body; every moment of torment I wage upon you; every scream I wrench from your bleeding throat will be a lesson in humility. You are aiming far too high, and I shall enjoy watching you fall.” Watching Castiel, Sam misses Dean flinch at his final words.

“Sam, shut the fuck up NOW.” Sam gives Dean an amused look before nodding in acquiescence and moving away. He sits back down, folds his arms and watches the two before him.

“Cas, can we just do this already? Queen Bitch here is giving me a headache.”

Castiel nods, and moves over to where Sam is slouching. “Lie down on your stomach.”  
Sam unfolds himself, and stretches out on the floor, hair brushing one side of the Trap, toes just short of the other. He stares at nothing as Castiel runs one hand along the length of his back, examining the skin and muscles, marking and measuring with his fingers. Castiel stops, and with one hand holding position he uses the other to reach behind and grab another glass vial. He holds it out to Dean.

“We start with blood. As I mark, you follow – not much, but enough to cover.”

The liquid inside the vial is oily and viscous, with a strong, but strangely familiar scent. Dean sniffs hard, and then coughs as the medicinal fumes hit his chest. Breathing deeply to clear his lungs he watches as Castiel picks up the blade again, and waits for him. The knife tip is placed delicately on Sam’s skin, just above the area where Castiel’s hand splays across Sam’s warm back. Dean takes a final deep breath, and leans over, positioning the open vial so he can follow Castiel’s path.

The first cut is confident, shallow but deep enough that the blood immediately begins to bead along its trail. Dean pours the fluid carefully along, the greenish colour turning muddy as it mixes with the blood. He sees, as well as feels, the muscles in Sam’s back twitch as the initial sharp pain is intensified with the sting of the liquid seeping into the open wound, but still under Dean’s last command, Sam doesn’t make a sound other than the occasional odd hitch of breath.

Castiel makes a second, then a third cut, and then more; graceful sweeps of the blade making Sam’s back an intricate design in crimson, tinted with the green trails that Dean adds to its artistry. Castiel pauses and examines the design, then runs his fingers down the length of Sam’s side and watches intently as he twitches and shudders under his touch before laying down his blade, and turning his head to Dean.

Dean’s face is ashen, the deliberate torture of his brother playing hard with his decision to follow through with the ritual, but he stays back, concentrating on his task, trying hard to stare at the movement of Castiel’s hand and not at the damage that follows it. His success leaves him feeling oddly detached, and Dean starts at the realisation that Castiel’s attention is now on him and not on Sam.

“The floor is hard, Dean. Maybe you could...?”

Dean moves before Castiel has a chance to finish, and starts stripping the bedding and pillows off the bed. He needs the time to try and clear his head, the thought of what comes next making his stomach clench with nausea. He isn’t worried about the act itself, apart from not physically being able to do it; it’s just the worry that this, even if it works, will damage everything he has with his brother. He tries not to listen but deep inside, a small selfish part of him screams that this is the worst mistake he will ever make.

“Dean?” Castiel sounds worried. Dean turns back to the two of them, and drags the bedding over to the circle. “You look angry. I’m sorry that I’ve put you in this position. If there was any alternative...”

Dean sighs. “No, Cas. It’s OK, it’s not you. I’m angry with myself. I’m emo-ing over this as bad as Sam does. It’s a job. We get it done, and deal with the fallout if and when. Just need to focus.”

Castiel reaches out a hand and pulls Dean down beside him. “If you trust me, I can help. Just... shut your eyes.”

Dean closes his eyes, and waits. Castiel moves around the circle, arranging bedding on the floor. Sam, now sitting, watches silently. He seems outwardly calm, but his damaged fingers clench and unclench, and that, plus the constant swirling of his now permanently metallic eyes, are the only signs of anger the binding allows. The symbols on his back still ooze blood and it trickles on to the floor around him and begins to soak into the nest of covers Castiel has constructed. At a gesture from the angel, he moves slowly to a position on the covers, and settles down to wait again.

Tentatively, Castiel reaches out and runs his hand down the edge of Dean’s face, cupping his jaw and leaning in close to speak.

“Dean, this is me.” He closes the gap between them, and gently kisses Dean’s lips. His other hand rests lightly on Dean’s waist, grasping the fabric of his shirt and tugging him forward. For a long moment that is all they do, then Dean groans and opens his mouth, deepening the kiss and clutching hard at the bits of Castiel he can grab in his haste. Castiel releases Dean enough to pull at his shirt, lifting it up and over his head, a tangle of half undone buttons and twisted fabric trapping his arms behind him. As Dean struggles for freedom, Castiel places a hand on his chest, stilling him for a second.

“Stop.” Castiel kisses him again. Dean leans forward, chasing Castiel’s mouth, but obediently leaving his arms caught and eyes screwed shut. Castiel moves down, nipping and mouthing butterfly kisses along the tendons of Dean’s neck, licking and tasting his way down the muscles of his chest and stomach. Grasping the edges of Dean’s denims he quickly undoes them, rasping the zip down and tugging the fabric until it clings precariously to his hips, releasing Dean’s dick. He licks the tip, making it twitch and Dean breathe in sharply, then reaches behind, grabbing Sam’s hair and pulling him up so he can take Dean’s length into his mouth.

“Fuck, oh Cas.” At the sound of Dean’s voice, Castiel bites his lip hard and looks away, face twisted in self recrimination. He keeps hold of Sam as he moves around and prepares himself, wiping his hand across Sam’s bloodied back and using the oily mess to slick himself up. He pushes deeply into Sam’s unresisting body and sweeps his hand across the markings on his back, tracing the curves with precision and purpose. Each thrust forward pushes Sam onto Dean, and he puts one hand on his brother , curling his fingers around Dean’s hip and working at his straining body.

Dean begins to struggle against the clothing trapping his hands, desperate to touch something. A rip of cloth and he frees one arm, immediately sliding his hand through Sam’s hair and pulling tight. It takes a second, and then the feel of the too-long hair makes his hand fly up and away. Dean’s eyes open wide in shock, and he battles with the conflicting urges to both push his brother off and thrust himself further in. He grabs at Sam’s hair again, and looks frantically over at Castiel, then gives in to overwhelming need and comes, eyes rolling. Shocked, he kneels, still holding his brother by the hair until, with a cry, he’s followed by Castiel, and to his surprise, Sam. He pushes his brother away, and works to keep his heaving stomach under control.

Whatever Dean is expecting, it isn’t for Sam to simply drop down onto the floor. He moves forward and gathers him up, pulling him onto his lap as much as possible. Holding the battered and bloody body of his unconscious brother in his arms, he buries his face quietly into Sam’s hair. His voice is muffled, but clear as he speaks to Castiel.  
“It hasn’t worked, has it? Nothing’s happened, Cas; surely there would have been something to show it worked?”

Castiel kneels down before him and wraps his arms as far as he can around the two men. His mouth close to Dean’s ear, he whispers softly, “You must break the Trap and let me out, so I can finish this. My Father must see what we have wrought here, then it will be done. His judgement on me will be the final piece. When it is over, use Holy Water to remove the spell binding Sam to you.” He leans further down to where Sam’s head is nestled on his brother’s shoulder. “Sam, you will forget everything that has occurred in this place.” He smiles at Dean. “At least he will remain innocent of this, even if we can’t.”

As he goes to stand, he is stopped by the touch of Dean’s hand curling hesitantly around the nape of his neck. Tugging gently, Dean closes the gap between them until their foreheads touch and the air between them warms as it passes from one mouth to the other.  
“Thank you, Cas.“ He pauses, then with a look of resolve he closes the gap between them and presses his lips against Castiel’s. Pulling away again, he searches Castiel’s face for something, and then sighs. “We need to talk, away from Sam, after this is over.”

Castiel pauses, then nods, and pulls away to the edge of the circle, a look of mixed anticipation and acceptance passing over his face. The bloodied knife lies close to where he stands, and he kicks it over to Dean, who uses it to scrape away a section of the painted circle. With a last look at the pair on the floor, he steps over the line and heads towards the nearest candle, dropping down to blow it out and end their isolation.

As the white light of the spell stutters out, and the electrical lights flicker back on, Castiel turns back to face them. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can begin he flinches, and looks up in sadness at something indiscernible to Dean. He closes his eyes and braces his body in anticipation. With that Dean is hit with the realisation that whatever Castiel has said, he doesn’t expect to survive his upcoming judgement. Before he can react, a sound starts irritating his ears, a high pitched whine which quickly begins to build up past any tolerable level. The walls of the room tremble in sympathy, dust drifting down to coat everything in a fine white film. As the noise increases in intensity, Dean clasps his hands to his head, trying at the same time to tuck Sam further into the protection of his body. His teeth begin to vibrate painfully and the taste of copper leaches into his mouth. The moment it gets to the verge of unbearable, just as Dean starts to think his eardrums are about to burst, it stops. There’s a brief second to wonder if he should risk unscrewing his eyes, and then there’s a burst of light so bright it pushes him beyond endurance; Dean feels the floor hit his back as his consciousness gives out.

***

When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he realises is that he no longer has hold of his brother. He sits up with a start, and starts to push back the covers before even realising the significance of having clean blankets to push back.

“Huh.”

“Good afternoon, Dean Winchester. I am grateful to see that you have managed to prove me wrong. On this matter at least.”

Uriel sits comfortably on the end of Dean’s bed. “Before you ask, your brother is comfortable, resting well and currently sleeping under the watch of your friend Bobby.”

“Bobby?” Dean takes stock of his location, and recognises one of Bobby’s guest rooms. It’s warm and bright, an open window with drifting curtains lets in a gently scented summer breeze, a far cry from the ramshackle room he was expecting to wake up in. “Sam? He needs...”

“Yes, yes. Holy water, done all that. Castiel muttered something about it. Damn boy was too wrapped up in you humans for his own good. Too late now, though.” Uriel’s face reflects his disgust, as he sits contemplating Castiel’s actions.

“It worked then. Lucifer’s bound, Sam’s Sam again, but Castiel had to Fall to do it. What now? You gonna chase him down like Anna? Or have you done it already? Saves the world then gets ganked by his nearest and dearest. Peachy.” Dean gives Uriel a reproachful glare, but is determined not to let his dismay and anger show.

“Our Father is forgiving. Castiel still lives.”

“Forgiving? Cas has his Grace back?”

“Good grief, no.” Uriel laughs in surprise. “What he did in using that magic was reprehensible, a stain on his soul that can never be wiped clean. He will never deserve to hold Grace again, but he lives, and will be allowed to live. Although I think I would prefer honest death, than be condemned to crawl on the face of this cesspit, but as I said, Castiel was too wrapped up in you humans anyway.”

Dean sits silently for a minute, and then looks at Uriel in puzzlement. “So, why are you here then? You hate us, so why the bedside visit?”

Uriel leans forward, and grins in an almost feral manner. “Because, Dean, for some reason Castiel has thrown his lot in with you, and for all his ridiculous softness for humanity, and the repulsive consequences of that, he is my brother. A sentiment I would expect you of all people to understand. I am here to tell you, no, warn you, that I expect you to take your responsibilities seriously.”

“He’s here?” Dean looks startled.

“Where else would he be? He is human now; he has no place with us.” Uriel’s last words bounce off Dean’s back as he pulls open the door in the corner of the room.

Peering left and right, he spots an open door and heads for it, trailing blankets in his wake. Standing in the doorway he sees Bobby peering intently at an open book from the comfort of an old armchair. Bobby looks up, and holds a finger to his lips, before gesturing to the bandaged form of his brother sleeping restlessly in a large bed in the far corner of the room. Bobby rises, and then moves quietly towards Dean, herding him out of the room with one hand whilst closing the door quietly behind him.

“You boys are gonna be the death of me, I swear. Don’t know who the bigger idjit is, you for getting mixed up in god knows what, or me for cleaning it up afterwards. I want the whole story behind this boy, no lying either, but not now. Go, leave Sam be; he needs rest more than you at the minute. Go sort out that angel of yours, shoo.” With that, Bobby pushes Dean further down the corridor then disappears back into the room.

He hesitates before entering the room at the end. He can see a bundled figure in the bed, but the enormity of Castiel’s Fall puts him at a loss of what to say or do. Kneeling beside the bed, he lays one hand carefully on Castiel’s shoulder, causing him to stir.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice is slurred with exhaustion and grief. Dean slides his arm around Castiel, gripping him tight, and presses a small smile into the skin of his back.

“Don’t worry, Cas. I’ve got you.”


End file.
